


Dean, The Kernovian

by Cerdic519



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cornwall, M/M, Soldier Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5256899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1597, two years after four villages were destroyed by Spanish, presumably in retaliation for the defeat of the Great Armada seven years before that. But now a Spanish galleon is wrecked off Lamorna Cove, and the locals swarm in for vengeance. Dean Winchester is a fisherman living in a village not far from the cove, and decides to avoid the scramble and instead fish off St. Clement's Isle the following day, where stuff from wrecks often washed ashore. And he does indeed find his own treasure…..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shipwreck!

**Author's Note:**

> Because this fic is set in Cornwall (I have no idea why; it just seemed right!), I have used the traditional Cornish names for the places involved. Penwith (the far west of Cornwall) is so much more than the ghastly and expensive tourist trap that is Land's End, and if you go to the area, bear that in mind.  
> Penzance – Pennsans  
> Newlyn – Lulyn  
> Paul – Breweni  
> Mousehole – Porthenys  
> Lamorna – Nansmorrow  
> Marhasyow - Marazion

August 1597: Porthenys, Cornwall, England.  
   
As he sat there sipping his beer, it was at times like this that twenty-seven-year-old Dean Winchester could almost – note the almost! - forgive his late great-uncle Bobby Singer, though he still occasionally cursed the ornery old geezer. Dean had been quietly scraping a living fishing off the Cheshire coast in the north-west, just about managing to feed himself and his moose of a little brother Sammy, when a hotshot lawyer had arrived from Manchester, telling him his late uncle had died and left them a fair-sized estate in Derbyshire, and enough money for the two of them so Sammy could follow his dream and study to become a lawyer in London.  
   
There was just one small, tiny little catch.  
   
Bobby had lived way down in Cornwall, and the last and only time Dean's parents had taken him and Sam had down to see him, just before they had died in that fire, Dean had made a derogatory remark about the local area, and said how he would hate to have to live here. He hadn’t missed the sharp look in his uncle’s eyes at the time, but he’d thought he’d gotten away with it. Until Bobby’s lawyer showed up at his house, and told him about that small, tiny little catch. He had to spend three years down in Cornwall in order to inherit the estate. Sammy would get the money for his schooling in the meantime, but Dean could not inherit the whole estate without spending three years in the county he had hated. His great-uncle was a bastard!

So Dean had sold his boat, packed Sam off to their Aunt Ellen (who fortuitously lived in the town of Brentford, not far from London), and made the long trek to England’s last (or as they called it, first) county. And now he was well into his final year, just four short months away from completing his task. Sammy was starting his third year at that fancy law school in London, and everything in Dean’s garden was rosy.  
   
Not that his stint in Kernow (as the locals called it) hadn’t been without problems. Six months after his arrival back in 1595, a major Spanish raid on the county had all but wiped out the four towns nearest to Dean’s thankfully isolated cottage – Pennsans, Lulyn, Breweni and Porthenys. Dean was only glad that his brother, on a rare visit down from the capital, had started for home two days before. The towns were still being rebuilt, though the nearest, Porthenys, had borne the brunt of the damage, and was still a shadow of its former self. Dean spent most of his evenings in the tavern there, and was quietly minding his own business that fateful summer's evening when Ion Braddock burst in through the door, panting as if the hounds of hell were after him.  
   
“There’s a Spanish galleon wrecked off Nansmorrow!” he managed eventually. “Holed, she’s a gonner!”  
   
He was almost knocked over in the rush to the door, as the tavern emptied in seconds. Everyone knew they had to get there quickly, before the Queen’s Men turned up and seized the ship (or what was left of her) in her name. The barman sighed, and looked across at Dean, who hadn’t so much as stirred.  
   
“Not joining the exodus, Dean?” he asked.  
   
Dean sipped at his beer before answering.  
   
“Braddock’s a Breweni man”, he said quietly. “He’ll have alerted his own folks first. And the Nansmorrow boys will be there already. There’ll be slim pickings by the time our lot reach it.”  
   
He yawned, finished his drink, bade goodnight to the barman, and headed out the door.  
   
+~+~+  
   
He might not have been in a rush to reach the stricken galleon, but Dean hadn’t spent nearly three years in Cornwall without learning a thing or two. Which was why he didn’t sail up towards Lulyn for his fishing the next day as he had planned, but instead headed round to the far side of St Clements Isle, the little island that guarded the entrance to Porthenys Harbour. He knew that if the stricken ship had been coming from the Spanish Netherlands, it may have tried to lighten its load by dumping things overboard before it had failed to round the headland at Nansmorrow. Such things could easily fetch up on the little island's east coast, out of sight of anyone along the mainland.  
   
Sure enough, there were a few small items on the island’s east coast; nothing to make Dean a millionaire overnight, but enough to more than make up for losing a day’s fishing. He was halfway through collecting the various items into his boat when he spied something moving slightly on the sand. Reaching at once for his trusty knife, he moved slowly towards it, ready for danger.  
   
It was a man, though not much of one. His obviously expensive long-coat was splayed on the sand behind him, looking vaguely like a pair of giant dark wings. He was facing away from Dean, but as he approached the man turned to face him, though he kept his eyes closed, and Dean was hit with the unmistakable scent of an omega. But on a ship?  
   
The man looked as if he was trying to say something, but obviously his throat was too dry. Dean knew he should have knifed him then and there – the only good Spaniard was a dead one, as the old saying went – but something stayed his hand. Then the man opened his eyes wide, and stared fully at Dean, who almost stepped back in shock. He had never seen eyes so blue before.  
   
Spaniard or not, this man would die without help. He eased the man up a little and placed his water-pouch to the chapped lips. The man drank the precious water greedily, and Dean had to stop him after only a little while – it was a hot day, there was no fresh water on the island, and he still had to get himself back to the mainland.  
   
He looked more closely at the man. He was about Dean’s age, clearly not Spanish by the colour of his skin, but equally clearly not English either. The totally trusting way he looked up at Dean roused the alpha in him, and he fought it down immediately. This was neither the time nor the place. His first job was to make sure the man lived, and judging by the state of him, that was not a given.  
   
“I can’t take you back to the mainland”, Dean muttered, then winced as the man’s grip on him tightened. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to abandon you. It’s just that everyone from the towns will be on the coast road the rest of the day, stripping that galleon before the Queen’s Men can get here from Plymouth. I’ll come back and get you tonight, and sail you back under cover of dark.”  
   
The man didn’t relax his grip, and was clearly trying to say something. Dean leant closer and could just make out a single word.  
   
“My name? It’s Dean. Dean Winchester Esquire, at your service. I won’t ask you to say your name, but we’d better get you under cover, just in case someone else sails by with the same idea I had.” He hoisted the man into his arms – he was a lot more muscled than he had looked, Dean thought – and carried him into the small copse at the centre of the island, where he spent some little time making a makeshift bed for him out of moss, leaves and some rugs he had fortuitously brought along in his boat.  
   
“I’ll be off now”, he said, eyeing his afternoon’s work with some pride. “But I’ll come back after it’s dark, and take you back to my place then. There’ll be no-one about but the wreckers down at the cove, and I doubt even they would want to be out on a night like this. Rain's coming over the bay, and the wind will be getting up soon as well.”  
   
The man grabbed his hand as he was about to leave, and thrust a small notepad towards him. Dean frowned at the unfamiliar word on the page.  
   
“That your name? Castiel? Well, you don’t look Spanish.”  
   
The man took the notepad back and flipped over to the next page. On it was written the word ‘Burgundian’.  
   
“Oh, one of Spanish Phil’s Hapsburg cousins”, Dean grinned. “Once you get your voice back, you can tell what an omega like you was doing on a Spanish galleon off Cornwall.”  
   
The man flipped over the last page, and Dean read what was written there. ‘Thank you’.  
   
“”It’s nothing!” he grinned. “See you again after dark, and don’t go wandering on the beach just in case, right? I've left you the rest of my water, so you should be all right.”  
   
The man nodded, and sank back onto his makeshift bed with a sigh. Dean looked at him thoughtfully, and left.  
   
+~+~+  
   
He had been right to be cautious. Even though it was nearly midnight when he set out, there was still a straggle of latecomers struggling back from the wreck, laden down with treasure of one sort or another. As he untied his boat from its mooring just above Point Spaniard, Dean hoped they would all be long gone by the time he got back.  
   
It was raining slightly, but there was a strong breeze which helped him steer the small craft over to the island, and he landed on the west coast this time, knowing that Cas (he had noticed the pained look on the omega’s face when he said his full name) would be waiting for him. Everything seemed quiet, and he made sure the boat was secure before venturing towards the small copse.  
   
“Cas?” he whispered.  
   
There was no response. Dean began to feel anxious.  
   
“Cas?”  
   
Suddenly he could make out a figure leaning against one of the trees, a figure he was sure hadn’t been there before. The omega was watching him coolly, looking much better than he had done a few hours earlier.  
   
“Thank you for coming, Dean.”  
   
Dean baulked. That was the deepest voice he had ever heard from anyone, let alone an omega. For a brief moment he imagined that voice saying his name in somewhat different and horizontal circumstances, before shaking the thought off. He was not a rapist but a friend, and this man still needed him.  
   
“Are you all right?” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was keeping his voice so low, as they could have shouted at each other and still not have been heard above the rain and the wind.  
   
“I am better, thank you. Are you taking me back to the mainland?”  
   
Dean could almost hear the implied extra ‘and handing me over to the authorities’. Queen Elizabeth took a mercenary view of captives, though she always insisted that they be kept decently until she could get payment for them. However, local constables still remembered the mauling of ’95, and any foreigner who fell into their hands could expect at best a mercifully quick death. Good Queen Bess knew well enough to treat the Cornish with a light hand, and any such infractions would be politely ignored.  
   
“I’ll protect you”, he promised. “We’ll get you back home somehow, but in the meantime I need to get you to my palatial mansion.”  
   
Castiel stared at him in confusion.  
   
“You own a mansion?”  
   
Dean gave him a despairing look.  
   
“Sarcasm, Cas!”  
   
“Why do you call me that, Dean?”  
   
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve mauled your first name every time I’ve tried to say it. How do you say it?”  
   
“Cas-tee-ell.”  
   
“Castiel. Still prefer Cas, though.”  
   
“I do not think I have ever been called that before.”  
   
Dean’s face fell. Then Castiel's lips twitched and his eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he was trying for a smile but wouldn't quite work out how to do it.  
   
“But I like it. May we leave now?”  
   
Dean grinned at him, and helped him back to the boat. Fortunately it was a moonlit night, and the ride back to Point Spaniard was calm, and even dry when the rain stopped shortly after they left the island. Best of all, the slow straggle of people returning from Nansmorrow had dried up. It was then a mile-long walk to Dean’s cottage, the sole farmhouse they had to pass being as lifeless as it should have been for the small hours of the morning.  
   
+~+~+  
   
“Not exactly a mansion”, Dean teased, but home sweet home!”  
   
Castiel looked around the small cottage, and smiled. It was a single-room affair, with a narrow set of steps leading presumably to a bed in the loft.  
   
“I’ll take the couch, and you sleep in the bed”, Dean said, leading his guest over to the stairs.  
   
“Surely I should take the couch?” Castiel objected.  
   
“You’re recovering, and besides, the Queen’s Men will be passing through here tomorrow, heading for Nansmorrow”, Dean said firmly. “The last time they came, one of them called in here. One look at you and they’d whip you off to London, or worse, Truro. No, you stay hidden, and I’ll try to figure out a way to get you home.”  
   
“I haven’t even told you anything about me yet….”  
   
“That can wait till tomorrow”, Dean said firmly. He hoisted the omega into his arms, and carried him easily up the stairs to the bed, where he laid him down gently. “Sleep, Cas. Tomorrow is another day.”  
   
He lightly kissed the omega’s forehead, and hurried back down the stairs, trying to ignore the fact that his trousers suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.


	2. The Scent Of Love

Dean was midway through a glorious dream involving a certain blue-eyed omega lying naked in bed beside him when he dimly became aware someone was trying to shake him awake. Grunting in disapproval, he turned away, but the shaking continued. Blearily opening one reluctant eye, he found there was indeed a naked Castiel in bed beside him, obviously trying to wake him up. His eyes went involuntarily downwards until he snapped them back to look the omega in the face.  
   
“What?” he growled. Mornings were not his strong point.  
   
“Dean, some men are approaching the cottage. Three of them. I saw them coming up from the town. They’ll be here in five minutes at most!”  
   
He looked panicked. Dean headed up the stairs to the top window, where he had a better view of the path. Shit! That accursed Metatron and two of his henchmen. Someone must have seen them last night, and reported it to that annoying dick.  
   
Dean thought quickly. The Pennsans official was a stickler for the rules, and always used them to enrich himself at other people’s expense. But maybe this time, he could turn that to his advantage. He hurried back down to his visitor,  
   
“All right, I’ve got an idea”, he said hurriedly. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”  
   
Castiel looked at him nervously.  
   
“What is it?” he asked.  
   
“You have to scent me.”  
   
“What?” The omega looked horrified.  
   
“Bear with me on this one, Cas”, Dean said patiently. “This guy is a stickler for the rules. If he smells you on me, he’ll think I’ve been caught in the act. It’s a local law that you don’t enter someone’s house in those circumstances, and he knows full well that if it got around he’d done that, no-one in the county would speak to him. Quick, do it!”  
   
Castiel looked at him uncertainly, then leapt on him, and Dean suddenly found that his dream was very much a reality.  
   
+~+~+  
   
The sound of a sharp knock on the door broke through what was left of Dean’s consciousness, and he quickly bundled Castiel upstairs, before going to the front door and opening it. Sure enough, the irritating beta stood there, flanked by two large alphas.  
   
“Mr. Winchester”, he said, before the scent hit him and he stepped back in surprise. One of his henchmen grinned at the other knowingly.  
   
“I am busy!” Dean snapped. “What do you want?”  
   
“Just checking the aftermath of the wreck the other night”, the official said, and Dean felt a tinge of pleasure that he looked decidedly jealous. “May we come in and look around?”  
   
“I’m entertaining”, Dean said pointedly.  
   
“We can smell that!” one of the henchmen grinned. Metatron glared at him, the smirk vanished at once.  
   
“You’re welcome to search the shed if you want”, Dean said archly, “but I’m in the middle of something right now. If there’s nothing else….?”  
   
“No, we can see you are….. ‘busy’. We will call at a more opportune moment. Good day, Mr. Winchester.” He bowed and left.  
   
Dean watched the beta and his two men until they had disappeared from view, before heaving a sigh of relief. Then he went back upstairs, to find a mound under a pile of blankets on the bed. Grinning, he edged quietly in alongside it, and the omega slid next to him sighing contentedly.  
   
“Who was that man?” he asked.  
   
“Metatron Jones.” Dean said. “He’s a local official in Pennsans. Officially a Queen’s Man, but everyone knows he works primarily for himself, sending just the occasional batch of goods to Her Majesty. Everyone hates him, but he just loves it.”  
   
Castiel shivered and cuddled closer to Dean, who sighed.  
   
“Cas, I’m an alpha, and you’re an omega. If you keep doing that to me, then what with your scent already all over me, I’m going to do something I won’t regret!”  
   
A pair of sparking blue eyes looked up at him.  
   
“I trust you, Dean.”  
   
If his brother could have seen him now, being the protective and loving alpha, rather than the screw-anything-that-moves Dean Winchester that Sammy (with some justification) always thought of his as.  
   
“Tell me about how an omega came to be on a ship”, he asked, hoping to distract his mind from the track it seemed so keen to run back into.  
   
Castiel leant back and sighed. God, but he was beautiful!  
   
“I lived in a village on the French border, near the coast”, he explained. “My father was a trader, so I learnt English to help him. Last month, our village was wiped out by some Spanish soldiers under one Lord Zachariah de Malaga. I was dragged back to Antwerp, and put in the hold with a load of other prisoners on the first ship back to Spain. Zachariah claimed me as his private property, but the captain of the ship, an alpha called Balthazar, insisted on keeping us separate during the voyage, otherwise.... well. They had a raging argument just as we were nearing your coast, and Zachariah stabbed Balthazar, throwing his body overboard. I saw him do it, and he came after me, but I jumped overboard, and swam for the island. I was lucky it was so close and the weather was so bad, else he could have come after me. I only hope he suffered when the ship was lost.”  
   
“There won't have been any survivors”, Dean assured him. “The Cornishmen still haven't forgiven the Spanish about the Raid.”  
   
“What raid?” Castiel asked.  
   
“Two years ago, King Philip tried to send yet another armada”, Dean explained. ”Fortunately most of it got lost in a storm, but some ships reached Cornwall and wiped out virtually every town from Pennsans south. Porthenys, the nearest town to here, is still a wreck. Metatron’s father was amongst those killed in the raid two years ago; I only hope he hasn't somehow learnt of your survival. That damned official is our main problem now.”  
   
Castiel hugged him.  
   
“What was that for?” Dean asked, amused.  
   
“You said, ‘our problem’”, the omega smiled. “Thank you, Dean.”  
   
The alpha sighed, and held him close. His life was suddenly very complicated.  
   
+~+~+  
   
It wasn’t until Dean finally got up some time later that he realized just how much of a problem he had. He still had to spend four months in Cornwall to fulfil the terms of his uncle’s will, and inherit that estate in the North. There was no way he could keep Castiel in his cottage for all that time without someone becoming aware of it, and reporting him to the authorities. He decided to write a letter to his uncle’s lawyer and see if there was any way round the conditions. It was a slim hope, but the only one he had.  
   
“I’m sailing up to Pennsans, to post this”, he told Castiel when he had finished. “I’ll cook some of the fish I caught yesterday when I get back, all right?”  
   
The omega looked up at him, and the trusting expression was almost too much for Dean. He really hoped he could continue to deserve it.  
   
“Of course, Dean. I see you have a Holy Bible on your shelf. I shall read that until you come back.”  
   
“That’s a lot of reading!” Dean teased. “Perhaps you should only read the bits you like.”  
   
“I’ve always had a thing for angels”, the omega mused, “possibly because I was named for the Angel of Thursday. Sometimes I wish I’d have been born with wings, so I could just fly away when the mood takes me.”

You look like the perfect angel.  
   
“Well, don’t go flying away until I get back!” Dean said, blinking back his thoughts. “See you later, Cas.”  
   
“See you, Dean.”  
   
+~+~+  
   
Dean’s trip to Pennsans was a little more rewarding than he had expected, mainly because he chanced to see Metatron trying to force entry into a cottage on the seafront. His henchmen were in the process of breaking down the door when the house owner leant out of an upstairs window and emptied – well, the official would almost certainly need a new suit, and could expect to be even more unpopular for some time to come, as that pot contained more than just liquid! Dean managed to avoid being seen by the official, and went back to his boat feeling in a far better mood.  
   
That mood lasted nearly all the way home, until he came in sight of the cottage and saw someone waiting for him outside it. Someone he definitely did not want to see.  
   
“Father Asher”, he said, trying to force a smile as he recognized Porthenys’ parish priest. “What brings you here?”  
   
He knew the parish priest, as he’d undertaken quite a lot of rebuilding work under his supervision. Asher Keyes was a good man, his only real vice being that he seemed to be constantly changing his hair style every week. Today it was ‘styled’ (in the loosest sense of that word) into a quiff, which remained impressively immobile despite the strong breeze blowing in off the coast.  
   
“I wanted to see if you were able to work on Mary Bessemer’s roof tomorrow, Mr. Winchester”, the priest smiled. “It suffered some damage in the storm that claimed that galleon.”  
   
“Of course”, Dean said. “What time would you like me there?”  
   
“As soon as you can get up, preferably”, the priest said, with a knowing look. “Though if the gossips are right, you may prefer a lie-in?”  
   
Dean blushed. He only wished the London post was as fast as the speed of gossip round these parts. The priest smiled knowingly at him, and left.  
   
The alpha knew he had to act fast.


	3. An Avenue Of Escape

Over a fish dinner (‘if you’re going to live with me, Cas, you’d better like fish ‘cos that’s pretty much all that’s on the menu at Chez Dean’), the two of them considered their options.   
   
“There’s a merchant who calls in here most months”, Dean mused. “Trouble is, last few times he’s been calling at Pennsans instead. I don’t want to have to take you there if we can avoid it.”  
   
“That’s the town at the top of the bay”, Castiel observed. “No easy way round it, is there?”  
   
“Anyone just has to look at you to know you’re foreign”, Dean explained. “And round these parts, what with the raid and everything, foreign usually equates pretty quickly to dead.”  
   
“I can’t help the way I look”, Castiel said defensively.  
   
“You look good….. but, er, that’s not the point”, Dean said, reddening somewhat. “I don’t think my poor little boat is going to get you all the way to Brittany.”  
   
Castiel was silent.  
   
“I like you, Dean”, he said eventually.  
   
“Hey, I like you, Cas.”  
   
“I mean….”  
   
Dean suddenly slapped his knee.  
   
“Got it!” he almost shouted.  
   
Castiel looked at him in surprise.   
   
“What?” he asked.  
   
“Father Asher. I met him outside earlier, and it didn’t twig, but that’s the obvious answer. I’ll marry you!”  
   
Castiel stared at him as if he had gone mad.  
   
“You’ll marry me?”  
   
Dean grinned.   
   
“Yes. Once you’re married to an Englishman, the law can’t touch you, God bless our good queen. She passed a law that gave protection to anyone who did that, mainly to help out the poor Dutch. But we can just say you and I were engaged, and you’ve finally come over to make the match.”  
   
“As simple as that?” Castiel asked.  
   
Dean frowned, coming down a little from his high.  
   
“Well, the marriage has to be proclaimed in a church for three weeks prior to the actual service”, he said. “But any church would do. I could sail across to Marhasyow and register us there, then we could sail over and tie the knot next month.”  
   
To his surprise, the omega didn’t seem overly enthused at the idea.   
   
“It’s only pretend, Cas”, he said. “I mean, once you get back home, you need never tell anyone, and I won’t….”  
   
“I can’t let you do it, Dean.”  
   
The alpha stared at him in confusion.  
   
“Why?” he ground out eventually.  
   
Castiel blushed.  
   
“I’m sorry”, he said. “I knocked over a pile of papers on your desk whilst you were out, and I sort of read one whilst picking it up. You'll be a gentleman in a few months' time, and you'll have to marry someone suitable.....”  
   
“Stop right there, Cas!” the alpha growled. “I don't want anyone else. I want you!”

The omega stared at him in confusion.

“You... like me?”

“I love you!”

The force of the declaration seemed to take them both aback. Then the omega got up and moved round to stand beside Dean's chair. 

“I love you too, Dean”, he whispered. “I know we've only just met, but...

“... This is so right”, Dean finished for him. 

“But I don't think I deserve.... oof!”  
   
Whatever further protests he had been about to make went unsaid, as Dean was suddenly very busy kissing him, mentally watching his hitherto good intentions pack a quick case and head out the door fast.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Much later, a totally sated Dean was sat up in bed thinking, looking down at the worst bedhead he had ever seen. Castiel was making the cutest snores imaginable, his head nestled in against Dean’s chest, his arms wrapped possessively around the alpha.   
   
“I can hear you thinking”, the omega muttered. “Can’t we get back to something more interesting, please?”  
   
“You’re insatiable!” Dean chuckled.   
   
“You could still try sating me, though?” He sounded so hopeful that Dean had to laugh.  
   
“I’ll tell you what”, he said. “I’ll wait a week to see if that London lawyer had any ideas as to how I might break the conditions of the will. But either way, I’m sailing over to Marhasyow today and registering our wedding. Once we're married, not even Metatron can touch us. But if anything happens before then to threaten you, we're leaving. Your life is way more important than a few measly cottages in a county I’ve never even been to before.”  
   
“Actually it’s seven farms, fifteen houses in a nearby town, two windmills…..” Castiel’s voice trailed off as he realized Dean was staring amusedly at him. “I might have read a bit more of the letter. Only because I love you.”  
   
Dean ruffled the already impossible hair.  
   
“You keep saying that, and I may never get out of this bed!”  
   
He suddenly realized just where Castiel’s hand had been heading, and yelped in surprise.  
   
“If that was an incentive to get me to stop, Dean Winchester, it failed miserably!”  
   
+~+~+  
   
The next week passed blissfully slowly. Dean went out fishing every day, and came home to find his cottage was becoming increasingly more domestic. Castiel mended all his clothes, did his washing, and the things he did with the fish Dean caught were some way beyond heavenly. Dean truly felt he had never been happier.  
   
+~+~+  
   
September 1597  
   
If there was one danger Dean really should have foreseen, it was Pamela Barnes. The woman lived in Breweni and was a local mystic, renowned around the bay. So when she showed up at the cottage door a week later brandishing a letter in her hand, Dean knew he was in trouble.   
   
“It’s good news, not bad”, she said, looking at him knowingly. “I had business in Pennsans and brought this down to you.”  
   
Dean didn’t even bother to ask how she knew the letter was coming.  
   
“I’m guessing you know about my guest”, he said.  
   
She grinned at him.  
   
“Honey, with that scent on you, I’m surprised the people up in Truro don't know about you!” she teased. “But it’s good news I bring, and who knows, it may enable the two of you to get together sooner rather than later.”  
   
“Go on”, he said warily.  
   
She sat down, and looked at him expectantly. He sighed and handed the biscuit tin over.  
   
“Wow, if he baked these, I’ll have him!”  
   
“Back off, woman!” he growled. “Just out with the news.”  
   
“Well, first, you have me to thank for your three year sojourn in this fair county”, she said.   
   
He stared at her in amazement.  
   
“Why?” he managed eventually.  
   
“Because I knew something like this could happen”, she explained. “Oh, I didn’t foresee the shipwreck and all, but I knew you would meet your soul-mate down here. So I persuaded Bobby – and after that remark of yours about our county, he didn’t need much persuading – to drag you down here for three years.”  
   
Dean didn’t know whether to snap at her or thank her. She grinned at his confused emotions.  
   
“Before you say anything, this letter from your lawyer tells you about the get-out clause”, she grinned. “If you marry someone during the three years, then the estate becomes yours at once, provided you met them here. So once you're wedded and bedded, the two of you can toddle off back to Derbyshire, and start lording it over all those peasants!”  
   
The alpha stared at her.  
   
“You mean – I can take Cas and just… go?” he asked incredulously.  
   
“That was the idea”, she smiled. “You found your soul mate; what more do you want? One request, though.”  
   
“What?” Dean asked, suddenly anxious.  
   
“Can I come to the wedding?”  
   
Well, that came out of the blue!  
   
“Sure”, he said eventually. “It’s on Cas’ birthday, the 18th. Ten o’clock.”  
   
“At Marhasyow”, she grinned. “See you both there!”  
   
She flounced out of the room. Dean stared after her, then hearing the sound of grunting from upstairs, guessed his future mate was roused from his nap, and went up to see him.


	4. Showdown At Marhasyow

September 1597  
   
There were few things that had genuinely surprised Dean Winchester in his twenty-seven years of existence. But coming downstairs and seeing two matching suits, one black and one white, hanging from the beam across his main room was certainly one of them. There was a piece of paper attached to the black one:  
   
‘See you in church – Pam’.  
   
He grinned, just knowing that the seer would somehow have their measurements spot-on, and went back up to where his soon-to-be-mate was gently snoring away. They still had a little time before they had to get ready, and since he had got Cas, Dean didn’t wish to waste a single second of it.  
   
+~+~+  
   
It was a beautiful day outside when Dean locked the cottage door and wrapped one arm around his even more beautiful omega. The other held the two suits, carefully wrapped up in paper. He had decided they would go first to the island where they had first met and change there, before sailing on to Marhasyow, since two suited men on a country path would inevitably lead to questions if anyone saw them.  
   
“I am so lucky to have found you, Cas”, he whispered into the untidy hair.   
   
The omega nuzzled closer to him.   
   
“If we’re quick, we could make our stopover on the island a little more interesting”, he suggested shyly, looking up at Dean through those incredibly long lashes.   
   
“Bad omega!” Dean said half-heartedly.  
   
Castiel chuckled, and they continued on down to the boat.   
   
+~+~+  
   
The island stopover went as planned, and Dean managed to limit a handsy Castiel to a quick(ish) kiss before they were both in their suits – black for Dean and white for Castiel – and on their way to Marhasyow. It was still sunny, but a dark cloud was approaching from the west, threatening ran later. Dean hoped they would be safely back at the cottage before the storm broke.   
   
Pastor Williams greeted them – Pamela was there already, of course – and summoned them into the church. The service began, and Dean almost felt transported onto another plane, as he looked into those deep blue eyes and knew the soul behind them would soon be his. At last, they reached the traditional part where the vicar invited objections from anyone attending; Dean glanced covertly at his friend, and to his surprise she nodded slightly.  
   
“I have an objection.”  
   
Dean and Castiel both spin round to see there were three more people in the church – Metatron Jones and his two henchmen. Dean immediately moved the omega behind him to protect him.  
   
“Too late for that!” sneered the official. “Sham marriages like this are prohibited by royal decree, as well you know, Mr. Winchester. Especially when they are to enemies of the state.”  
   
“Cas is a Burgundian”, Dean snapped. “Our allies from not so long ago, if you remember, Mr. Jones.”  
   
“And now split between our enemy France and our other enemy Austria”, the official retorted. “My quarrel is not with you, Mr. Winchester, but that pretty little omega behind you. Step aside and let me have him, and you have my word that no action will be taken against you.”  
   
“Your word?” Dean said with a derisive laugh. “We all know how much that’s worth!”  
   
“My men are armed, and can take you by force if necessary”, the official warned.   
   
Dean drew out his knife and pointed it meaningfully at the official.  
   
“Over your dead body!”  
   
“Take him.”  
   
The two huge alphas behind him - did nothing. There was a strained silence before the official turned and looked at them in confusion. Dean was strongly tempted to lunge forward and knife him there and then, but a warning look from Pamela stopped him.  
   
“What’s wrong with you two?” Metatron demanded.   
   
“Hullo, Auntie Pamela”. The two spoke in unison.  
   
“Victor, Valerian. Good to see you.”  
   
The coldness in the church was probably not sufficient to explain the sudden paleness on the official’s face.  
   
“You …. you two asked to come with me this morning!” he gasped.  
   
“And now they’re going to take you back to Pennsans”, Pamela smiled acidly. “Only they’ll be stopping on the way for a little chat as to why it’s not nice to take pleasure from ruining other people’s lives. I’m sure they’ll make absolutely certain you understand that particular concept very thoroughly. And when they’re done, I believe there’s a ship leaving port for the Azores tonight. I doubt anyone will notice an extra crate on board, eh?”  
   
The official blubbered noisily as the two huge alphas dragged him from the church, and all was mercifully silent.  
   
“Well, I see that objection has been ‘withdrawn’”, the pastor observed with a wry smile. “Let us proceed, before there are any more, ahem, interruptions. Do you, Dean Alexander Winchester, take Castiel Iacobus Novak to be your true mate, to protect and to cherish as long as you both shall live?”  
   
“I do”, Dean said sincerely.  
   
“And do you, Castiel Iacobus Novak, take Dean Alexander Winchester to be your husband, to honour and to worship, as long as you both shall live?”  
   
Castiel looked up at Dean, and smiled.  
   
“I do”, he said.  
   
“Then by the powers vested in me under the Church in England, and by the authority of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, first of that name, I declare you husband and mate, alpha and omega. You may kiss.”  
   
And they did.  
   
+~+~+  
   
“I can’t thank you enough, Pam.”  
   
“Think nothing of it, Dean”, the woman smiled. “I’ve been longing to teach that irritating little beta a lesson for many a long year. This was the perfect opportunity. Now back you go to your little hideaway, and enjoy the next four months.”  
   
Castiel reached up and whispered something into his ear, and Dean smiled down at him.  
   
“Pam, when I go – would you take the cottage? It’s small enough reward for all you’ve done for us, but I’d like it to be in good hands.”  
   
“If you don’t mind me giving it to Val” she said. “Vic’s marrying a local girl next year, so he’ll want to move out, and I like my old place too much to want to move now.”  
   
“That’s fine”, Dean grinned. “I’ll get my lawyer to send you down all the paperwork and boring stuff once I reach Derbyshire. Thanks again.”  
   
She smiled at them both.  
   
“I’m glad you found each other”, she said. “I’ll be off now. Goodbye.”  
   
She left. Dean scooped the omega into his arms, and carried him back down the aisle, to a future that was now so much better than he could ever have hoped.


End file.
